


kiss me hard until you're done

by callunavulgari



Series: Dark Month Collection [80]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 31 Days Of Halloween, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Cunnilingus, Dancing, Demons, F/M, Monster Hunters, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Succubi & Incubi, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: He looks up at her from under heavy lids, dark hair sweeping forward to frame his face. “May I have this dance?”The dance floor is crowded, full to the brim of masked people sweeping by in jewel-bright dresses and dark suits. She knows not to - knows that this place is a lot like fae courts of old. You don’t eat the food, you don’t drink the wine, and you definitely don’t dance.But she’s already drank the wine, so she might as well dance.





	kiss me hard until you're done

**Author's Note:**

> Day 22 of October. Prompts were: midnight ball, succubus, voice, demons, and blood. . 
> 
> A couple things before you start-
> 
> First of all, [this is the dress Rey is wearing.](https://callunavulgari.tumblr.com/post/172260615501/queenbakkoush-hussein-bazaza-fallwinter-2017) I've wanted an excuse to write her in it since I first saw the post on my dashboard.
> 
> Secondly, the songs they dance to are [Masquerade Waltz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPp3Qh-GRqs) and [The Chairman's Waltz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5sVqGYXBVG0). This isn't like, need to know, but they were the songs I was thinking of (and listening to on repeat) so if you're like me and want a more immersive experience, these are the songs you want.

Rey had needed to pull a lot of strings to get an invite tonight. In the end, it had cost her two favors that Maz was allowed to cash in at her own discretion, a deal with one of the sketchier contacts in Han’s repertoire, and flaunting Luke Skywalker’s name like it was going out of style.

But it was worth it, because she's already spotted at least seven marks. None of them are quite _who_ she wants, but they’ll do.

This isn’t the sort of party she usually frequents. The parties that she prefers tend to be small things hosted by friends, dinners and board games with Finn and Poe or shopping dates with Rose where they spend fifteen minutes in the stores themselves before they find an ice cream parlor somewhere. Not… this.

The ball’s theme, she’d heard, was midnight. Run by demons, for demons, it was said to be the underground equivalent of the royal wedding.

Typically, humans didn’t manage to get themselves an invitation unless they were either on the menu or someone’s pet, but Rey was special. Nobody knew her yet, so she was the perfect candidate for a job like this.

The dress she’d chosen for the event was lovely, perfectly calculated to be the precise nexus between innocent and dangerous - an off the shoulder gown that showed off her collarbones and the long stretch of her pale throat, the bodice and sleeves embroidered a rich royal blue that dropped off into paler shades towards the waist. The skirt though, that was her favorite part - long and flared with a creeping crimson that started at the hemline and worked its way upwards, stretching up into the blue of the waist and bodice like a slow, creeping corruption.

She’d left her hair down for the ordeal, brushed to a glossy chestnut finish, and donned a shade of lipstick that perfectly matched the red of her skirt. Her neck and wrists she kept bare, not wanting to take attention away from the blue veins pulsing gently there. The only accessories on her person were the simple golden belt around her waist and the silver knives strapped to her thighs.

Now all she needed to do was manage to find her way to the right people.

The room itself was surprisingly fancy - less strobe and darkness, more the goblin ball from The Labyrinth, complete with masked guests doing odd things in dark corners. A chandelier glittered high above her, and the walls were covered in a rich, dark blue velvet brocade that made her feel like she was underwater. A feast was laid out along the long table situated off to the right side of the room, mostly unfamiliar meats and strange dark berries. Waiters with their own dark masks weaved expertly through the room with sparkling glasses of champagne and dark goblets bearing something that she guessed wasn’t wine.

She’d been here for all of fifteen minutes, and she was still astonished by the glamour of it, still under its thrall.

“My lady,” a deep voice murmurs, and she _jumps_, blinking in surprise at the man who’s sidled up next to her.

She recognizes his face from wanted posters, and worse, recognizes it from the portrait that Leia has sitting on her desk.

The man formerly known as Ben Organa is tall, with a face so pale it's nearly translucent and wide dark eyes framed by heavy lashes. His hair is darker than both of his parents', a gleaming black that reminds her of the glossy sheen of a raven’s wing. He’s oddly proportioned, with a wide chest and a narrow waist, his face pointed in strange places and wide in others.

However, the feature that she’s finding herself most entranced by are the massive curved horns curling up out of his hairline. They’re a bone white, so shiny that they look almost polished, curving backwards like a ram’s and ending in sharp points.

She blinks again when a gloved hand comes to rest at her elbow, and is startled to realize that he’s _smiling_ at her, which means she’s been staring for much too long.

“Sorry,” she says, and then wants to slap herself. You don’t show weakness at these things, that’s how you get killed.

But he’s smiling wider at her like he doesn’t mind, like he _likes_ it. Which isn’t entirely expected, but she can work with it.

“Take a turn with me,” he says in a deep, coaxing voice.

She just nods stupidly, allowing him to lead her across the marbled floor, through the throngs of whispering, laughing people.

He grabs a drink off of a passing server’s tray and offers it to her. It isn’t champagne, the liquid inside gleaming a dark red in the crystalline glass.

“It’s wine,” he tells her, snagging one of the goblets for himself. Those she already know to contain something a little thicker than wine, and she can see the evidence on his lips when he takes a slow drink, the blood staining his mouth red.

She takes a careful sip, pleased to discover that it _is_ actually wine, a rich, full-bodied red that burns a little going down.

“Do you drink the blood for pleasure, then?” she asks, and his eyes sparkle with mirth.

“So you know what I am,” he says, and takes another sip before placing it on another passing waiter’s tray. “Interesting.”

Her face flushes. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Does it?” he asks, thumb stroking the inside of her elbow. His lips have tilted upwards at the corners, a thinner, more secretive smile than the one he’d given her before. “Or has my mother just been feeding you details before casting you out like a sheep to the wolves?”

Rey can’t hold back a flinch at that, and nearly drops her wine glass in her surprise. He catches it before it even begins its slow descent, stilling her fingers around the stem. Her eyes are harder when she catches his gaze again, and he laughs at whatever he sees there.

“Relax,” he croons, stroking her fingers before he pulls away. “Your secret is safe with me. Most of this crowd knows that I’m not on speaking terms with that side of my family. They won’t suspect you because of me.”

Her face is flushed, either from rage or humiliation. Possibly both.

“So you-”

“Yes,” he says, fingers dropping to caress the fabric of her gown, swirling a thumb around the sweeping petals of an embroidered rose. His gaze is sly, a bit predatory when he glances back up at her. “I know what you have under this pretty skirt of yours.”

Rey’s breath catches, and she feels _something_\- a slow trickle of heat seeping in to pool around her navel. She shifts, thighs sliding together, and hopes that he can’t smell her.

“Just as I know _exactly_ what you’re doing right now,” she tells him in a hard whisper, jerking away from his grip on her elbow.

His eyes widen, affecting a look of innocence - a ‘who me?’ - that isn’t quite as effective when his lips are also curling up into a slow, pleased smirk.

“And what exactly am I doing?” he asks, his eyes laughing at her.

She glares at him. That seems to be enough of a reply, because he chuckles before taking possession of her arm again and pulling her smoothly towards the dance floor. Once they’ve reached the edge of it, he stops, dropping her elbow in favor of dipping into a low, courtly bow.

He looks up at her from under heavy lids, his hair sweeping forward to frame his face. “May I have this dance?”

The dance floor is crowded, full to the brim of masked people sweeping by in jewel-bright dresses and dark suits. She knows not to - knows that this place is a lot like fae courts of old. You don’t eat the food, you don’t drink the wine, and you _definitely_ don’t dance.

But she’s already drank the wine, so she might as well dance.

She offers him her hand, and there’s that smile again, slow and pleased as he takes it and leads her out onto the ballroom floor.

Rey was in ballet for a while as a child. The orphanage she’d grown up in had to allow the children something that might make them look like they were having fun, so Rey has known how to dance since she was old enough to walk.

As she grew though, she’d grown to hate it. Ballet was a reminder of her childhood, a reminder of all the people who had abandoned her and the ones who didn’t care enough to do even that. Ballet turned to club dancing during her later teenage years, the heave of sweaty bodies packed too tightly together and the earthy smell of weed in the air, hands on her hips and lips on her neck.

This dancing isn’t quite like either ballet or its sweatier, sexier cousin, but it shares similarities to both. The music playing is something dark and vaguely sensual, heavy on the strings and brass. It’s a type of waltz, she thinks, though certainly not any kind of waltz that she’s ever seen. It’s a dizzying swirl of revolving faces and unexpected lifts, his hand on her waist and his face entirely too close to hers.

She’s breathing heavily, her heart pounding in her chest, and she knows that he can feel it through the curve of her breastbone against his.

His smile has shifted a bit, like its growing teeth and claws. It makes her feel like he’s planning on eating her, which, she supposes he very well could be. The song comes to a stop abruptly, and another one begins to play, this one slower, sadder, a quavering violin that is joined by the sweet lilt of a harp.

It draws them closer together, and she finds herself pressed tight against the long length of him as the music seeps into her bones, makes her soft and sweet and pliant when he twirls her out, his arm around her waist, her shoulders, his palm heavy against her hip.

She closes her eyes, fits them tighter together until he has to twirl her away again. This is like ballet, sharing its sweetness, its intimacy. It’s familiar, intoxicating, though maybe that’s just him.

Rey came here for a reason. She came for information. For a demon’s throat under her blades if she could get the chance. But now all of her thoughts are tangled up in _him_, his hands on her body, his lips on her throat, his-

She shakes her head, but can’t quite clear it of the cobwebs. The music has her, _he_ has her, and she’s his until he lets her go.

When the song begins to slow, she becomes very aware of how much she does not want to stop. It should scare her, and maybe if she was thinking clearly, it would. But she isn’t thinking clearly, and all she wants in the world is to keep dancing until she drops.

He dips her as the song ends, so low that her hair pools on the marble beneath her. He is looking at her, his dark eyes liquid with want. As she watches, he ducks his head, pressing a lingering kiss to the center of her chest, just above the swell of her breasts. 

When he pulls her back to him, she is trembling.

“Shall we go?” he asks, his voice pitched low and smooth, heavy as molasses.

She licks her lips, and thinks about refusing. She came here to do a job, one that’s not finished yet, but her entire body sings when he touches her, tingling when his gloved hands alight on her bare skin. She wants in a way that she’s never wanted before, and here, like this, she can’t imagine saying no.

“Please,” she whispers, and feels herself quiver like a taut bowstring when he touches her mouth gently, with the very tips of his fingers.

He smiles and leads her away, through the demons and goblins and fae that she came here to kill.

They make it as far as the parking lot before he is hitching her up the side of a gleaming Mercedes, hooking her legs around his shoulders, and hiking her skirts up over her thighs so he can duck his head beneath them. His fingers linger for a moment on the silver of the knives strapped securely to her thigh, and then he is reaching in, guiding her underwear to the side and getting his mouth on her, right where she wants it.

She must make some kind of noise, because he chuckles, tongue circling her clit in a slow, languid way that makes her think that he is savoring her, that he likes the taste of her on his tongue.

And he must, because she knows what he is. Knows that just as he’s savoring the taste of her, he is _eating_ her, feeding off of her want like the things that she hunts in the dark feed off of blood and marrow and souls. She _knows_, but it isn’t enough to stop her from tilting her head back, gasping for him, the distant wink of streetlights and stars so far away.

He makes her come with his mouth on her, with his fingers inside her, and even as she’s shaking around him, she knows that it isn’t enough. She wants _more_, wants to feel the heavy press of him inside around, wants to kiss his lips and taste herself on his tongue.

“Please,” she says, her thighs shaking, and he laughs, pulling away and easing her down, until her legs are looped around his waist instead of her shoulders. He reaches between them, and she knows what’s happening beneath her skirts, knows that he’s getting his cock out of his pants and pressing it against her, can feel it as he sinks slowly into her, the tight fit of it so sweet, so perfect that it makes her ache.

“You’re lovely,” he whispers, kissing her shoulders and fucking into her slow, a teasing stretch that makes her mouth water, makes her twitch.

She opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a quiet wanting sound, a little whimper that makes him smile in the dark. He grinds into her, keeps her where he wants her as he fucks her with slow, steady thrusts. She’s shaking, damn near sobbing from how good it is.

“So sweet,” he breathes, breath hot on her throat as he kisses first her jaw, then her mouth.

She comes apart like that, once, and then more than once, until his thrusts start losing their rhythm, until his panting mouth against her collarbone and his hand in her hair is all that she knows.

She hadn’t told him to use a condom, which she might regret later, so when he spills, he does so inside her, their hips fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

After a long moment, he sets her back down. Her legs are shaky, and she is dizzier than she would have expected, so she lets him hold her up, his hands on her waist and the cool press of metal and glass at her back. There’s wetness between her legs, trickling down the inside of her thighs. It will stain the strap that holds her knives, but she can’t make herself care.

“I didn’t take too much,” he whispers, his breath hot against her lips. She glances up at him, surprised to find that their brows are pressed together. This close, his eyes are swirls of black, dark as the void.

“Good,” she replies, and casts a lingering glance over her shoulder, towards the open door that spills warm yellow light and distant strains of music into the night air, warm and welcoming. She doesn’t want to go back, certainly not like _this_, where every creature inside will be able to smell him on her, _in_ her.

“Don’t go back,” he murmurs, tilting his head to press a kiss to her sweaty temple.

“I have to,” she grumbles, nose wrinkling with distaste. “I didn’t get what I came for.”

He laughs, gently, and kisses her again, this time on her mouth. When he pulls back, his eyes are glittering again. “But, you_ did_.”

She snorts. “I hate to break it to you, but-”

He sets a finger on her lips.

“No lies,” he tells her solemnly, but he’s still smiling. “I didn’t mean it like that. You came for intel, correct? Locations. Weaknesses. Blackmail.” At her look, he laughs. “My mother did always like her little games.”

“So, you know what I came for.” She shrugs, beginning to shiver. With the sweat beginning to cool on her body, she’s starting to realize just how cold it is out here. “So what.”

“So,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles. “I have what you want.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to believe that you’re just going to give it to me?”

“For a price,” he tells her.

“And what’s your price?” she asks, eyes narrowing.

“You’ve already paid some of it,” he says, eyes dark, cheeks flushed. “As for the rest of it… I would rather not whisper about it here. The night has ears and we are a feast.”

Rey licks her lips. “What exactly are you proposing?”

He shrugs. The movement looks wrong on him, unpracticed. “You come away with me. We can get to know each other better.”

Privately, Rey thinks that they just got to know each other quite a bit, but she’s smart enough to keep her mouth shut when people are offering her things that she wants. “And then?”

He smiles. “Then, we’ll see.”

“You’re running a game on them,” she realizes.

He tips his head in acknowledgement, a small smirk at the corners of his lips. Rey considers him, and wonders what he’s after. She’s willing to bet that it’s got something to do with power. Everything comes back to power in the end.

“All right,” she says after a moment’s thought. She offers her hand. “Rey.”

He takes it, brow raising. “Kylo Ren.”

“I think I like Ben better,” she tells him, smiling sweetly when he flinches at the name. Her eyes glitter with the promise of a hunt. “But all right, _Kylo._ Where would you like to start?”


End file.
